


But not without considerable regret.

by Kaesteranya



Series: Like Two Sides of the Same Coin [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaesteranya/pseuds/Kaesteranya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The things we do for the people that we love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But not without considerable regret.

**Author's Note:**

> Written to match the prompt “tire tracks and broken hearts”. The title is taken from the 31 Days theme for November 5, 2008.

It always starts with a phone call in the middle of the day; the person on the other end of the line does not speak for exactly fifteen seconds before he hangs up. Maes Hughes, of course, already knew who it was the moment the phone rang. He slips out of his office during the lunch break, changes out of his uniform and hits the streets of the city. He doesn’t bother looking to see where he’s going anymore; his feet already know the way.

 

Roy Mustang won’t apologize, of course, but he’s got this funny look on his face that Hughes has come to identify as his almost-kind-of-guilty face. Hughes makes a big deal out of pretending not to notice, and putters around his old friend’s apartment, setting things in order. It’s a typical bachelor’s pad (read: messy) – the direct opposite of the way Roy carries himself when people are watching. When the world’s watching. Hughes puts the coffee on, leans against the counter and watches it, to avoid looking up and seeing how Roy’s leaning against the window and acting like some sort of caged animal that’s just realized that it’s owned not by itself, but by someone else.

 

The hard drinks come out after dinner; Roy spends the hours before that hinting that he wants a little booze, and Hughes predictably denies him by insisting on the younger man eating dinner first because he never eats right. He watches Roy eat his food like a hawk, and it’s only after that does he allow Roy to crack a bottle open. Roy, he’s quiet and tense at first, but three drinks later, the clipped, cryptic sentences start up. Five drinks after that and Roy’s slumped over the top of the table, mumbling so many different things. And Hughes listens. Some days, when the alcohol doesn’t hit fast enough, Hughes has the misfortune (privilege?) of seeing Roy break a little, of watching the mask that has become his friend’s face crack. Some days, when the alcohol hits too fast, Hughes has the misfortune (privilege?) of looking up to see Roy looking at him with this sad little smile, of hearing Roy stumble over the delicate topic of them.

 

And still, he listens.

 

Hughes always goes home by 3 AM, stepping out of an apartment where he’s dumped Roy (gently) unto the bed, pulled off his socks, tucked him in, left a glass of water and pills by the bedside. When he crawls in beside his wife, he pulls her close by her waist and hugs her. When she shifts and murmurs an odd query (where he’s been, is he okay), Hughes feigns sleep and doesn’t answer.


End file.
